I’m one filled with distant things
things i hear to be my silence
My remote you, a butterfly
You be me and a voice, a voice
like a word flown in melancholy
It reaches me in the cooling absence of a touch
Random syllables of sanity from my subterranean barometric life
I’m one filled with distant things
things i hear to be my silence
My remote you, a butterfly
You be me and a voice, a voice
like a word flown in melancholy
It reaches me in the cooling absence of a touch